


Whatever Parts They Could Bring Closest

by HeartIconography



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:40:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3528050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartIconography/pseuds/HeartIconography
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maggie always cried, silently, absently, as though she was not aware of it -- and a better guy would've stopped. A better guy would never have started, but Daryl had never claimed to be one of those. Someone had thought it of him once, but that was a long time ago. That was such a long time ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever Parts They Could Bring Closest

It was as though Beth was an image that floated up inside of her sister, teasing just below the surface, showing up darker and harder and not quite the same. It made Daryl sick to look at Maggie, but it made him sick not to look at her too. Not to talk to her, or touch her, or try to meld his misery into hers --so their sadness could be a link that held them together, closer and stronger than Glenn could ever hold her. So Maggie wouldn't disappear, like Beth was always disappearing, sometimes still, even in just the turn of her older sister's head.

"We shouldn't be doin' this," Maggie mumbled almost more to herself, as her shaking hands pushed off his vest.

Daryl only pressed his mouth against hers in answer. He couldn't tell the difference here. Could imagine. Had never tasted Beth. He knew it was fucked up, what he was doing, but everything was fucked up now. Even Maggie, who was hollowed out in a way that was different from the rest of them -- more dramatic -- turning her face into sharp angles and shadows. Loss could do that.

Maggie's body was longer, their heights more evenly matched. His erection pressed against her, hot and insistent. Begging to be released. Aching for oblivion. Her own body rocking back in promise, in hope; both of them straining to take it away.

They were outside the wall. It was stupid, pointless, to meet out here. She insisted there was less of a chance of Glenn catching them. Of having to explain. Daryl didn't care. He spent more time outside of the wall than inside of it, but she no longer looked like she belonged out there. Her hair and skin smelled of soap, had been scrubbed clean, but Daryl still reeked of it -- of death, and dirt, and sweat. Sometimes of blood, Her blood, but maybe that was all in his head. He could taste it on Maggie's mouth though, from where she had pressed her lips against Beth's blonde hair. He tried to get closer to it. Used more tongue than either of them liked, but this wasn't about enjoying it.

He tugged her pants down roughly, taking her underwear with it. She was wet, he could tell from the way the fabric had stuck for a second before peeling down. He lifted her against the tree, allowing her unbutton his pants, freeing him from them, as he pressed a thumb against her clit, grinding roughly, causing her eyes to close in a mix of pleasure and pain -- the only two things they knew from each other -- and slipped inside of her, inch after inch, until he was so deep she whimpered against his neck. 

This was what he liked. Almost loved. The dark, blank space that took over. How Maggie spurred him on, wanted it hard, and fast, and angry. He wondered what she told Glenn about the bruises on her hips, or her breasts. He wondered if Glenn even saw those parts of her anymore. Maggie always cried, silently, absently, as though she was not aware of it -- and a better guy would've stopped. A better guy would never have started, but Daryl had never claimed to be one of those. Someone had thought it of him once, but that was a long time ago. 

That was such a long time ago.

Maggie came first, clamping down on him ruthlessly, sucking him in deeper, holding him. Daryl followed shortly after -- one pump, then two, slamming into her heat, trying to get closer. Her name always came out of his mouth, like a curse or a prayer, pressed against the skin of her sister. 

Beth. 

Beth. 

Beth. 

She lingered on inside of them, that's why they kept reaching each other, grabbing whatever parts they could bring closest. Hoping for something. Despairing everything. Wanting... just wanting... something to be different. Just one thing to be different. Because that's all it would take.


End file.
